


by the book

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Bad Puns, Books, Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Libraries, M/M, Non-Binary Enjolras, Other, Panic Attacks, Strangers, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rousseau is the bae. According to Beanie Guy, he's probably also half the reason women are still oppressed today, the other half being Aristoteles.</p><p>
  <em>Of fucking course.</em>
</p><p>“Finished with Jean-Jacques?”<br/><em>Yeah. Fuck that voice.</em><br/>“Yes. It’s not like it was my first time.”<br/>“Of course,” emphasizes beanie guy. “You sure don’t look like a virgin. Not one<em> in chains</em>.”</p><p><em>Can eyes be pretentious? Because this pair most definitely is entirely too annoying, and out of Enjolras’ comfort zone.</em><br/>He doesn’t even have a comfort zone.</p><p>“Nietzsche is on aisle 4, if you’re looking for him.” <em>Ha. I called you pretentious.</em><br/>“Wow, thanks!” too-school-for-social-contract-cool whispers in blank, mock surprise. “Also you look like you need a break.”<br/>“You look like you don’t,” Enjolras hisses.<br/>Well, let’s say it sounded more aggressive in his head.<br/>*<br/>Or the one where Grantaire is the stranger who gets high and spends the night in the library reading mythology and Constructivist theory, and Enjolras is the live-in student who cries to him at 2AM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by the book

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God you don't know what this means that I finally finished this piece of shitty fic. I've been struggling with it for two months, talk procrastination to me... Traveling and studying and existential crisis don't really help with productivity, I guess.  
> Sorry for everything happening here. I have no explanation other than it's 1000% self imposed. This is the exact phase I went through two months ago, and anxiety fucked me up, and after trying my best to isolate myself from everyone and fucking WORK my ass off, I reached a breaking point when I needed to talk to everyone about everything because otherwise I would explode with shit occupying my mind. So yeah, Grantaire is important. His respect is important. I hope I kept him IC. I didn't even try to make sense out of Enjolras' schedule and 23898 different books xie has to read and essays xie has to write. That's literally how my life was this year.  
> Sorry if I fucked up with xyr pronouns or experience, please call me out on it about anything having to do with ignorance/bad writing/less effort than there should be.  
> It's 1AM and I had a debate today. I'm exhausted. As you can probably tell, I really can't wait for this term to be over.  
> Opinions and constructive criticism are always more than welcome.  
> Thank you for bearing with me. You're amazing. Good luck with your studying/work/getting your shit together, whatever it is. It might seem unsolvable, but I promise it gets better. I believe in you <3

A most tasteless thing to joke about _had_ to be library romance. On the good days, Enjolras would snort a halfhearted, weary laugh at your direction, if you were lucky enough to be considered xyr friend. On the bad days, it was likely that xe would spray you with xyr coffee. _Spray_ , because no nuisance is enough for a good cup of coffee to go waste on your pretty face, so here you go, you were lucky once again. And after that, on both good and bad days, Enjolras will sigh, pack xyr notes, unbun xyr poetry worthy hair, and head to the library.

Coincidentally, there are also those other days, rare as the sassy four leaf clover that you are, since you managed to escape xyr wrath uncoffee-d once again, those completely unnecessary and entirely too frustrating spring days which can be classified as neither good nor bad. Maybe they’re some sort of miss-the-continental-philosophy-9am-lecture kind of bad, or come-up-with-a-title-for-the-Hegel-essay-in-the-shower kind of good, these days are always so vague. They’re the days when xe doesn’t feel tired or worried or ridiculously stressed out for the inordinate amount of work xe’s stormed under because the sun is peeking its way through a sadistic, cataclysmic April and the pavements are bathed in constellations of rose petals blooming all over the cherry trees (in which point Enjolras should probably stop with this obscene poetic language because xe’ll end up assigning xyrself with a marxist analysis of the Romantics or something, and poetry is hardly xyr area of expertise, not to mention that another essay is the last thing xe needs right now. It’s bizarre how on those days, most people in the library seem to smile more and talk less anxiety-ridden gibberish to themselves, they seem to wear brighter clothes and bring their beverages cold with extra cream and chocolate, instead of steamy and gloomy with a taste of existential disappointment. They are the days when Enjolras manages to finish a surprising amount of work earlier than xe’d even scheduled to, while at the same time staring at the other people and gaining a warm sentiment of solidarity.

On those days xe will think about it, even though romance is the last thing on xyr list, alongside conforming in gender norms, xyr mind would wander at the possibility, because let’s face it, _if_ \- completely hypothetically – romance _was_ a thing on his list, there was no other possibility than it happening in the library since, according to Courfeyrac, - and xe quotes – Enjolras should probably move there already, between shelves 324B and 326E. Courfeyrac was quite satisfied with himself: he had every reason to be, considering that he was the reason why Enjolras had actually peered out of xyr congested, bombarded hole that served as xyr room, the temple where xe sacrificed the gift of xyr youth ( _toujours selon Courfeyrac_ ), mumbling historical dates and Spinozaic terms under xyr breath and panicking after the twelfth cup of coffee in the same pair of pajamas for the third day, under piles and piles of notes. Combeferre, stoned on weird stuff with Bahorel for scientific experiments half of the time, memorizing neuroscience terms with Joly the rest of it and occasionally summoning aliens with Jehan and Feuilly, was enough of an insomniac explosion of stress for an apartment. One of Courfeyrac’s friends _had_ to leave the house, immediately. Inordinately long story less long, Courfeyrac was the reason that Enjolras was in the library once again, sipping xyr fourth coffee between the Irish Revoltion paper and the intersectionality statistics, and thinking of romance in a fricking _library_.

Now if you asked xem, the only possible scenario xe could envision, in some parallel universe with graduation already accomplished, equality achieved and justice for all, would probably involve one of those extremely well read students with the pretentious fair trade coffee, the gigantic glasses and the grandfather sweaters, whose language would never have unfortunate politically incorrect slips, would use xyr correct pronouns, and who’d be equally interested in social justice and social reformation. Then of course, Enjolras would realize that the object of xyr musings already existed in xyr life since he remembered xemself and practically lived at xyr place, going by the name of Combeferre. Enjolras saw absolutely no hitch in marrying Combeferre queerplatonically, in order to manage their taxes, rent, and other practical matters, apart from the fact that Courfeyrac was probably first to confiscate Combeferre’s marital vow. Of course the thing going on with Jehan was completely legitimate and consensual from all parties, so the fact that they couldn’t all get have their different relationships acknowledged for the sake of convenience was a problem of monogamous standards imposed by capitalism, and Enjolras was convinced to change that.

The thing is that, in order to actually bring a change in the world, Enjolras has to get that scholarship by the end of next year, educate xemself on matters of history, philosophy, sociology and political theory and, most importantly, organize their militant social justice group. The sum of which, - though Enjolras thinks that Courfeyrac is probably exaggerating – would make anyone deem the possibility of getting xemself a life somewhat utopic. Not that Enjolras would ever _complain_ about the life _xe_ has chosen to lead, nor that xe’d in any case regret it, at least not when xe’s vibrating with coffee enough to help him prepare the petition for ungendered university restrooms until this afternoon.

*

And it’s all going well, you see, as well as it goes, because the library makes xem feel so safe, almost at home, with the scent of coffee those endless, wonderful books waiting to be savored, with the subtle communication through the cards of all those people who have borrowed the books before you, the soothing pattern of steps between the aisles, the musical buzzing of all the whispering and the feeling of the wooden chair against your ass…

Ok, maybe xe might have taken it a bit too far. This is a library, for fuck’s sake, maybe they could all try to keep it down and let xem concentrate on xyr work? Also those chairs make his ass hurt, end of story.

Xe loves the library, xe really does. It’s just that sometimes xe’d rather be in the warmth of xyr bed, having nothing to bother xyr buzzing head with but Candy Crush. These weeks have been absolutely hectic, and at some points xe should really do something about that pressing feeling in xyr chest that wakes xem up at night - whenever xe's managed to sleep, that is. But not now. Xe doesn’t _really_ need a break, xe most definitely shouldn’t be thinking of sunlit beaches and week-lasting naps, not when so many issues demand xyr vigilance and devotion, most definitely not mid-term. Everything’s ok, it’s just that it’s one of those ridiculous sunny days, and the bus didn’t arrive on time, and the library coffee tastes like piss on busy days, and xe’s slightly upset. Xe needs a good night’s sleep, that what xe needs. Maybe xe’ll get some tonight, if everything goes well. Maybe xe needs to go out, every once in a while. Feuilly made xem promise they’d go to the movies tomorrow, isn’t that enough. Mind you, just because it’s Feuilly. Sometimes xe doesn’t understand xyr friends and the pressure they apply upon him to get out more. It’s not like _they’re_ not busy.

Someone should _really_ tell the beanie at the desk behind him to stop rambling about what sounds like drug use in ancient Rome. Some people are actually trying to _work._

*

_To renounce your liberty is to renounce your status as a man, your rights as a human being, and even your duties as a human being. There can’t be any way of compensating someone who gives up everything. Such a renunciation is incompatible with man’s nature; to remove all freedom from his will is to remove all morality from his actions…_

Rousseau is the bae.

*

“You _know_ that the guy you’re reading so solemnly about is probably half the reason women are still oppressed today, the other half being fucking Aristoteles?”

The voice coming from behind xem sounds smug and makes xem feel uncomfortable, so xe just focuses on xyr book, feeling as if xyr eyes are going to burn through the pages.

“Well of _course_ I do,” xe hisses in slight annoyance, “Any chance that I might be reading this for its contribution to the political theory of the social contract crossed your mind?”

“Of course kid. Leviathan on your right side. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a stash of Norse mythology waiting for me to finish!”

Enjolras doesn’t even bother to turn around and look at the voice.

*

_The Reform Act of 1832 corresponds to the July Revolution of 1830 in France, and had indeed been powerfully stimulated by the news from Paris. This period is probably the only one in modern history when political events in Britain ran parallel…_

Xe first meets eyes with Beanie Guy behind a European history shelf. Their hands almost brush over a Hobsbawm, but there’s no actual skin to skin contact, just a weird sort of millimeters-distance electricity like when you touch the automatic metro stairs on the wrong moment and fuck up your entire existence for like, two seconds. Everything’s vague, as if time itself is distorted, or maybe it’s the coffee. Maybe they’ve met eyes before, eyes that go with the voice he’s certainly ( _unfortunately_ ) been graced with ( _annoyed by_ ) in the library, the general physique seems familiar after all. Or maybe he’s got too usual a face, and an even more usual sigh. It’s not like he’s _something._ Some kind of nuisance, _yes,_ but nothing different than the bunch of rough looking, stoned looking, tired green i’m-an-ugly-and-better-than-you kitten eyes.

Enjolras _is_ taking it easy on studying.

“Finished Jean-Jacques?”

Yeah. Fuck the voice.

“Yes. It’s not like it was my first time.”

“Of _course_ ,” emphasizes beanie guy. “You sure don’t look like a _virgin._ Not one in chains.”

Can eyes be pretentious? Because this pair most definitely is entirely too annoying, and out of Enjolras’ comfort zone.

_Xe doesn’t even have a comfort zone._

“Nietzsche is on aisle 4, if you’re looking for him.” _Ha. I called you pretentious_.

“Wow, thanks!” too-school-for-social-contract-cool whispers in blank, mock surprise. “Also you look like you need a break.”

“You look like you don’t,” Enjolras hisses.

Well, let’s say it sounded more aggressive in xyr head.

The light is doing a thing through the window, making dust dance between the books. A sunray flickers on beanie’s face, or maybe he just smirks smugly. Enjolras doesn’t know. Xe needs to work.

*

“That’s it. You need a break.” Xe doesn’t know from where the fuck Courfeyrac’s face appears from. Turns out he’s here to bring xem a sandwich and convince xem to leave and join him, Joly and Bossuet at the movies.

“No. Thanks for the sandwich but no. I need to finish this.”

**[From: Combeferre] Don’t you dare say no to Courfeyrac. You’re going out tonight.**

_Et tu Brute._

**[From: Combeferre] Sorry. I need to finish this. Have fun without me, guys.**

“You’re coming with us!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

“Ssshh!”

Enjolras turns around, only to see Beanie Guy sit on his table with a pile of books in front of him, looking smug as fuck. Xe feels his cheeks prickling. Xe hates even more the ridiculous Nicky Nichols smirk that appears on Courfeyrac’s face. Xe wants to punch them both. ~~With xyr lips.~~

No. What the fuck. Not _Courfeyrac,_ he’s xyr childhood friend, they’ve literally eaten worms together on the playground. They rebelled together against nap time oppression. It would be like incest.

Xe still wants to punch the other guy though. Xe doesn’t know how xe can get away with it, but xe does.

“Go, Courf,” xe hisses. “I’m going nowhere tonight. Next week, I promise.”

“You neglect your friends,” Courfeyrac hisses angrily. “Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your barricade!”

“You don’t even make sense,” Enjolras hisses back. Xe has started getting a headache already, and xe can feel that ridiculous guy’s eyes on his back.

Xe hears a popping sound from behind. When xe returns, Beanie Guy is sitting there with an open beer bottle and his belt out of his pants. He mouths Cheers and raises the bottle. He’s literally opened a beer with his belt.

Enjolras is so fucking done.

_The essays included here… represent some of my recent work on gender… and sexuality focusing on the question… of what it might mean to undo restrictively normative… conceptions of sexual and… gendered life…_

Xe’s so sleepy and anxious and xyr heart is racing with exhaustion but xyr eyelids are also drooping so xe isn’t even able to panic, xe’s too tired but xe needs to finish this, and xe’s losing xyr shit but xe’s not _allowed_ to lose it, _xe’s not…_

_…The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted… from the ruins of feudal society… has not done away with class antagonisms… It has but established new classes, new conditions… of oppression, new forms of struggle… in place of the old ones…_

It’s 2am, and Enjolras is crawled up between the Latin and the Natural History sections, crying xyr eyes out.

*

Contrary to popular belief, the average twenty-something y/o in this country doesn’t spend the night in a dimly lit, isolated library. What actually happens, is that the mythology junkie spends the night jerking off to Hesiod, Schopenhauer and a bit of Derrida to get properly high just because he can, and finds the anxiety ridden honours fuck-society-in-the-ass-with-a-barricade school kid crying between the Philosophy of Law and the Ethics sections, just because xe can’t not.

And Enjolras has had enough. Enjolras has had _so_ enough that xe gets as far as to regret xyr life choices. Which – yeah. Enjolras rarely ever regrets xyr life choices. Xe should have taken Courfeyrac’s advice and take a damned break, help him with this Joss Whedon rant article and start a petition against the new Avengers’ sexism, racism, whitewashing and ableism. Xe should have helped Feuilly with their knitting for the baby Penguins, or proofread Combeferre’s essays on the construction of the gendered body through medical textbooks of the 17th and 18th century, or something equally relaxing. But no. Xe didn’t, and xyr brain feels like mashed potatoes mixed with apple crumble and doesn’t taste anywhere near as good. Xe’s royally fucked (the irony), with half an essay left unfinished and those mails left unsent, xyr whole body is literally sweating and pumping with anxiety, every inch of xem feels like crying and sleeping for fourteen years and crying again but social justice can’t wait for trifles such as tears and warm beds and whatever else makes people happy. Xe’d normally like to live like a hermit until exams are over but right now xe feels so lost that something inside xem feels safer with Beanie Guy’s presence in the dark aisle around the point when xe’s about to have a panic attack.

“May I?” the voice comes soothing and scary and disorientating at the same time, and xe needs to grasp on the sound as if his mere presence holds all the light left in the blurry room. Xe merely gestures on the floor next to xem with xyr gaze, and Beanie Guy sits next to xem, lighting a cigarette and offering xem one.

Enjolras denies it because xie doesn’t smoke and because it’s obscene to do so in a library anyway, but xe doesn’t really care about it, not now, because xyr only chance of surviving right now, is a stranger who has eyes greener even than xyr Cat’s. Which is so green it can almost be considered ecological.

“R,” he offers xem his hand, and when that’s denied right after the cigarette, he withdraws somewhat disappointed. Enjolras can’t figure out if he’s laughing at xem or not, yet his eyes are glowing. “Touching or no touching?” he asks seriosuly. “I mean, what mode are you into right now?”

It should sound absurd, even awkward, but it’s actually the most considerate question xie’s ever been asked. Xe feels like deflating. Xe heaves a sob and wraps around xyr knees. “No touching. Thanks. I’m Enjolras, by the way. And you…”

Beanie Guy sighs, thick eyebrows climbing up his curls. “Just told you. Grantaire.”

“Oh?” Enjolras looks up, still shaky with tears yet grateful for the distraction. “I thought you tried to speak Facebook Pirate or something.” The pun hits home, even though xe doesn’t yet know if it’s terrible or not.

“So,” R takes a lazy drag from his smoke and politely looking away through the books while Enjolras wipes xyr eyes with xyr sleeves and tries to pull xemself together. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Epistemologically Combeferre convinces me, and his scientific views are always philosophically justified, but I just can’t come in terms with the fact that he’s so convinced about certain aspects of brain neurology that suggest a deterministic functioning of people’s choices and ideas that I just can’t handle,” xe finishes xyr snotty rambling, taking another shaky breath and wiping xyr nose on xyr sleeve once again. “Do you have a tissue?” xyr voice trembles pathetically.

Grantaire pats his pockets. “Nah,” he says eventually. “Sorry. I have some booze though,” he points at the mini flask on his belt and Enjolras is so fucking done. “And I certainly have more chill than you currently do.”

“Do you mean to say…” Enjolras breathes out slowly, “that you carry cigarettes, a beer and a freaking _flask_ to the library but you don’t carry tissues? What is even the matter with you? Don’t you have any allergies?”

“I’m allergic to capitalism, patriarchy and white supremacy, if that’s what you’re asking,” Grantaire says, amused. “Other than that though, no.”

“Wait a minute,” Enjolras sniffles, xyr eyes burning with exhaustion. “And you’re trying to solve all that with Schopenhauer?”

“What can I say,” the guy sighs dramatically, finishing up the cigarette in a paper cup that Enjolras is sure does not include water. “The only things I understand are art and love.”

Enjolras looks up in sleepy frustration. “Stop it, you know you can’t pretend you’re ignorant. You just read the wrong things.”

“Oh the woe, what is wrong and what is true,” he sighs dramatically. Enjolras considers on the back of xyr dazed mind that it’s a good thing the library’s empty. “Listen here, kid, the only reading material making sense lately is the Michelin guide but I have no money for that shit, so if that makes you feel better, I don’t have my shit together either, so I have to compromise with Vice articles and Kant.”

Enjolras’ face lights up and Grantaire gapes in disbelief. “Honestly, now? You think the categorical imperative invented by another dead white guy is a model that gives a fuck for the oppressed and the minorities? He was like, the biggest, most stuck up misogynist and racist of his time.”

“Out of space-time context,” Enjolras frowns. “Combeferre always says that Kant’s theory if taken pure can applied differently than Kant considers it was. Take suicide for example…”

Grantaire holds up a hand. “Come on,” he says calmly. “Time's over, now you _really_ need to talk about it. Because if you don’t you’ll explode. And then no one will be here to overthrow the fucking everything. When was the last time you had a proper meal?” Enjolras opens xyr mouth to protest. “ _Not_ liquid caffeine.”

“Liquid caffeine?” Enjolras scrunches up xyr nose. “That’s so pretentious!”

“Yeah, and so is what you’re reading. Why don’t you take a break? Your dimples friend was right, you know. You’ve literally grown roots in the library. There’s a whole new world out there. Photosynthesis, man.”

“Non binary.”

“Fuck, sorry.” Grantaire hisses. “Pronouns?”

Enjolras shrugs xyr shoulders. “Xe/xyr, though I can go with he/him,” xe mutters, rather overwhelmed. Xe knows xe shouldn’t be, but xyr heart doesn’t, and it’s doing a wild dance which must probably be due to the utter exhaustion xyr body is trying to deny. “So, how do you know I’ve grown roots in the library?”

Grantaire shrugs his shoulders. “I have eyes.”

_And what a pair they are._

“So… you come here a lot? I’ve never spotted you around.”

“Someone has to be drunk and invisible and read everything people don’t generally give a fuck about because _that’s_ how hipster I am. Constructivism before it was even constructed or, fuck I don’t know, I’m fucking drunk.”

Well, Enjolras _does_ feel a bit drunk right now, that’s for sure, but then again coffee abuse and sleep deprivation will do that to you. Everything feels surreal in the end of the term, or maybe constructivist.

Fuck, if that’s art then xe most definitely can’t do it.

_though xe could do the artist_

_how did xe even gather he's an artist?_

Maybe xe’s studied way too much.

“Tell me whatever you think might help,” xe watches as he lights another cigarette. Xyr head goes dizzy, xe’s hyperventilating. “Breathe, and just tell me. You can’t do this alone, kid.”

And then suddenly, xe’s vomiting xyr soul to the unconventionally hot stranger. Because xe doesn’t go out. And xyr relationship with xyr parents isn’t working and xe’s glad, but sometimes xe just wishes it was. Because xe hasn’t slept properly in weeks, and xyr cat hates xem, and everything xe does feels pointless. Because some days xyr body doesn’t make any sense and some others xyr mind isn’t. Because everyone’s expecting so much for xem and yet xe expects even more, and it’s never enough, xe’s always insufficient, xe needs to go out and feel young and alive because yeah, turns out that life gets like a Smiths song around exams, especially when you live it in your head because _you don’t have a life,_ you spend it lost behind books and making plans and signing petitions, and yet you don’t see any change, you feel so small sometimes and you don’t know if you’re ever going to bring it, and you’re tired _you’re tired you’re tired_

_and you need to breathe –_

“Hey, you’re doing great,” his voice soothes xem over, almost lulls xem to sleep, a breathless, frantic sleep, but sleep nevertheless. “Keep breathing like that. You’re okay.”

“Sometimes I’m just not productive,” xe hears xemself gasping for air. “Sometimes I will just lay in bed doing nothing and Courfeyrac will get angry at me and… and I will get angrier at me, and you’ll tell me that I’m harsh on myself like everyone else does but…”

“I will,” Grantaire takes off his beanie and runs his fingers through notoriously curly, dark hair. Enjolras’ chest feels empty and so consumingly full at the same time. “Because you are. And I know your pretentious friends with their pretentious names keep telling you in their own ways, because they sound like a nice pair of nerds, but I don’t think anyone can stress out enough how _enough_ you are.” Enjolras looks up to him. There’s something real about this, so real it can’t be that beautiful. It’s as if xe’s only just noticed they’re surrounded by books, endless, dusty rows of books, shadows merely existing in the quiet library. It’s the repetitiveness in every blink, as far as their eyes touch the last corridor that fades into darkness, that helps xem breathe and focus on that for a while.

“You don’t judge me,” xyr voice is but a faint whisper. Xyr fingers feel hungry, xyr lips dry. “You don’t tell me I’m young and I should be having sex and drinks and I’m wasting my life. Thank you."

Grantaire turns around in the shadowed room. His smile is crooked, or maybe Enjolras is dreaming of it. “No need to thank. I don’t need to tell you all that, you already know it.” It’s a reflex for Enjolras to feel attacked. “Yes, you’re fucked up!” Grantaire blocks xem, almost startling xem. “And who isn’t? Look, Apollo, just _admire_ yourself, for fuck’s sake. You’re worthy of respect. I won’t tell you to go out and have fun and pull you out of your comfort zone, because if it exists then your comfort zone is already so uncomfortable and requires so much courage that I can feel nothing but awe.” Xe doesn’t know where this came from, and xe certainly doesn’t know if xyr heart is supposed to feel like bursting out of xyr chest and all over the books that are in close proximity to their almost touching bodies.

_don’t touch, don’t touch_

Xe’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be an actual person with human emotions and the occasional need to empty xyr bladder and have a good healthy salad, and wake up late to play with xyr cats and watch lazy Nickelodeon while solving puzzles on the cereal box.

Suddenly xe doesn’t want to have to do that alone again. Not in xyr head, not in a city that stinks, a city that xe hates to love.

“Believe in yourself, Apollo.”

"Why?" xe hears xemself asking stupidly.

“Because I believe in you.” Grantaire raises his head from his shoes, tilting it on the side so that his eyes can burn only a little. His dark skin looks golden in the library. They’re full of dust, and it’s golden.

“Sometimes I lose interest and I’m terrified,” xe chokes, “I find myself daydreaming… and then it’s over.”

“Give yourself some space for dreaming. It’s the only shit that’s real anymore. You’re so real.”

There’s something in the sound of that pretentious voice in 2AM to forever cling on. “You… you don’t even know me,” xe croaks.

“Exactly,” Grantaire cracks a faint smile. Enjolras hears music. Enjolras is sleepy.

“Take me home?” xe pleads in a tiny voice. “And… and then we could – we could go out sometime. Tomorrow, maybe. If that’s okay with you.”

It takes a palpable while for Grantaire to regain his chill and shut his gaping mouth. “Uh, sure? Like, I know that great place where they serve squeamish sweet tea I suppose you’ll like, considering how you take your coffee. But yeah. No more coffee for you. We could do tea.”

“We could do tea,” Enjolras nods dazedly.

“Are you sure you want a drunk stranger to walk you home? Because I don’t drink and drive.”

“That’s responsible. Please, just walk me home.”

“Where do you live?”

Xe gives Grantaire xyr hand and is helped to stand up. “Just across the campus,” Enjolras mutters, stretching xyr aching bones.

They don’t speak on their way back. The night is clear and Enjolras is still awake. Maybe that’s how it would feel to sleep with the shutters wide open. There’s blossoms waltzing in the air, and they’re alone and decaffeinated, and xe wants to cry, or maybe xe doesn’t.

Enjolras smiles sleepily, and leans over, reaching for Grantaire’s hand in the absurdity that reads 2:16. “I think I’m ready for the touching now.” Xe doesn’t exactly know what xie means, all xe knows is that Grantaire’s fingers feel rough and cold, and xyr heart is waltzing.

“You lead the way,” Grantaire cackles absurdly. It’s a low key sound. The wind howls. The yellow lamplight looks away tactfully. Enjolras leans closer in a way that almost feels rehearsed. Maybe xe remembers some countdown. Maybe xyr whole life has been one.

Their lips graze softly together. Grantaire’s breath falters on xem before xe swallows it raw. They press against each other, and again, until they lose their grip, and their mouths stumble over some brick wall with a sign painted on it.

“You kiss by the book,” Grantaire breathes against xyr lips, horrible smirk almost tasted.

“Shakespeare, you fucking nerd?” Enjolras murmurs blissfully. “’m too tired for that shit.”

Grantaire smiles smugly before kissing xem again into the apartment. The lights go on, then off. Curtains are drawn. The cat turns side. Their palms align. Enjolras sleeps.

_because then, you felt so real_

_._

**Author's Note:**

> The italic parts are obviously not mine and quoted from books which I will cite tomorrow morning because I'm absolutely exhausted please don't put me in jail (not even in Litchfield please thank you).


End file.
